


Homesick

by Chickeon



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Adoption, Domestic Fluff, Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, One Shot, POV Third Person, adoring fan: (running and screaming), modryn: why are you running? WHY are you-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24724903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickeon/pseuds/Chickeon
Summary: Retiring from the Fighters Guild brought Modryn many changes: he doesn't have to deal with lazy recruits; he can paint most the day; and now that his boyfriend is living with him, he gets to help him raise said boyfriend's adopted son, who is scared to death of him.
Relationships: Modryn Oreyn/Blue Team Gladiator
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Homesick

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I've returned. With this. Based on a conversation I had with a friend on Discord. Thought it was too cute to not capitalise on. :>
> 
> Also I must note that unless I specifically say otherwise, the Adoring Fan in my fics is around 14 to 16, but immature for his age. He's baby q.q
> 
> Also yes I did name him and BTG. It would make the story awkward if I didn't.

The young Bosmer clung to his adoptive father, worried, tense, and scared. Adormir had seldom seen beyond the Imperial City’s walls, but he travelled the stone-paved Black Road, seen the wilds the walls shielded him from, and entered into Chorrol, a city several days on horseback from familiarity. Being outside the imperial City excited him, but also roused his anxiety and homesickness. He’d miss being the Arena’s adoring fan, but the thought of sleeping on an actual bed and not a bedroll on the floors of the Bloodworks was something to look forward to. He wasn’t going here against his will, but he would’ve preferred to stay home. If he got what he wanted, he and Folvys wouldn’t be on this horse, and his adoptive dad’s new boyfriend would come to  _ them _ .  _ Then,  _ they could buy a house in the Imperial City and live happily, but Folvys, despite how popular he was as the Blue Team’s gladiator, didn’t earn enough to purchase and maintain one within the city.

Folvys took the move better than Adormir did, though he too would miss the Arena. He enjoyed his job, but every day he worried about what would happen to his adopted son if someone slew him. He was never one of the cocky fighters, the ones that thought themselves too mighty to suffer the lowly fate of death. He kept himself humble, but seeing young, fresh, and promising combatants get ripped to shreds by exotic animals or by the Yellow Team made it difficult being anything but. And if Folvys ever thought he was invincible, the cane he now relied on to walk, and him missing half of his left leg, told both himself and any onlookers how the greatest of warriors could be incapacitated. Still, he had hope. It would take more than an amputation to kill the Dunmer’s spirit, and it would take more than losing part of a limb to kill him off.

They could both agree on one positive: Chorrol was less crowded than Cyrodiil’s capital. There was room to breathe in this city, and due to the change in climate, the coming of spring also let them breathe. He suffered through many miserable in the springs in the Imperial City, the summer varying on how much rain would be dumped on them that season, but Chorrol had a crispness to its air, a chill in its wind, and a warm temperature overall. The afternoon sun glistened in the sky, unimpeded by the few clouds. Yellow-shingled roofs cut into the blue sky, peeking above the stone walls encapsulating the city. Towering above both were mountains far beyond them, dotted with conifers, unchanging in the face of the shifting seasons. Meeting them as they stepped into Chorrol was a Dunmer sitting at the base of a statue, standing up as soon as he and Folvys caught each other’s eye. 

“Modryn!” Folvys smiled, pushing Adormir along with him as he approached, stopping when Modryn came to him.

“Thank gods you’re safe,” he said, “Hope the travel wasn’t tough on you.”

“It wasn’t for me, but I think little Adormir here’s shaken up by it.” He rubbed the boy’s shoulder, the Bosmer responding in kind by hiding slightly behind him. “Barely seen the outside world.”

“Has he?” he said, looping his arm around Folvys’ waist to support him, walking slowly with him in his arm, “Once you both get settled in, I’ll take him out around the city.”

“Think that’d do him some good, but keep him safe. I don’t want him to lose a leg too.”

“You coddle the boy too much. You can’t protect him forever. He’s got to learn to fight for himself.”

Adormir clutched Folvys’ shirt tighter. “Hey, I’m working on it. He’s getting better with a bow every time we practice.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Folvys reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek with a smirk. “And you will. I can still teach him like this, you know.”

Modryn tried to suppress a blush and an automatic smile at the kiss, but only succeeded halfway. “I know,” came his laconic reply.

Adormir kept himself behind Folvys. He knew  _ of _ Modryn, considering the position he held before his retirement, but he hardly knew him outside of that. He and Folvys had been together for a year or so, he was second-in-command to the Fighters Guild’s Guildmaster, and that he terrified him. Something about him made him want to run back to the Imperial City, whether it be his stone-cold face, the way he talked as if every sentence was a command, or how imposing he was compared to him. Even in casual clothes, the impression that if he so much as looked at him with disrespect he’d be killed, stuck with him. A part of him knew Folvys would stop him from doing something drastic, but the wedged itself deep in his mind. With his free hand, he adjusted his bag, knowing the second he stepped into his room he would throw himself into the books on the Arena he brought with him, letting his memories nip at his eyes and threaten to draw tears from them in safe privacy. Crying was a sign of weakness, and if Modryn saw him… he didn’t want to think about what would happen. Thinking about that made him want to tear up more.

With a click of the lock coming undone, Modryn pushed open the door, letting the two into their new home. It was small, but considering the shack Modryn had been living in, and the damp, cold floors of the Bloodworks, it was a much needed improvement. The insides were sparse, but not impoverished. A weapon rack met them by the door, Adormir helping to hang up Folvys’ bow and quiver as they passed through the entrance, a sizable burgundy rug beneath their feet. Pushing his weight back onto his cane, the gladiator walked around, checking out the rest of the rooms while the fan fiddled with the flap of his bag, hesitant and unable to move from his spot without Folvys by his side. Modryn took note of the Bosmer’s visible confusion and concern and approached him, bending down to get on his level.

“Hey,” he said, offering a hand, “want me to show you where your room is?”

Adormir nodded tensely, heart racing and every instinct in him telling him to scream for help, but he took his hand and remained silent. Modryn righted himself and pulled the boy along a short distance to a little room with a window, a bed, a dresser, and a short bookshelf. 

“Here it is,” he said, letting go of him and gently pushing him into the room, a spike of adrenaline clouding Adormir’s fear, forcing him to act. “I hope-”

He closed the door. 

Not with a bang, but softly and swiftly. Odd kid, but Folvys did say he wasn’t reacting well to the changes. He decided against teaching him some manners and let this incident slide, turning his attention to his dear Folvys, whose head poked out from their bedroom.

“Put the money to good use, didn’t I?” he smiled, walking to him.

“I was worried that despite how much I sent you, you wouldn’t be able to find something nice.” He put his arms around his neck with a flirtatious smile. “I’m happy you bought this house.”

“Good.” He leaned his head down, touching his forehead to Folvys’. “I’m glad I can be with you.”

“Me too. We can be together.”

“We don’t have to deal with writing letters and worrying if the courier is going to lose them anymore.”

“And me worrying if you were getting yourself into trouble again.” Their voices lowered in volume, louder than a whisper but just as intimate.

“It was one time, Folvys.” His hand stroked Folvys’ hair. ”And I can’t get expelled from the Guild now.”

“I know, but you’d find a way.”

Modryn pulled the gladiator into a kiss. Some things were easier done than said, like quieting an elf that didn’t know he needed to shut up. They let the rest of the world fall away as they enjoyed each other’s touch, parting after what seemed like hours. 

“I love you,” whispered Folvys, hugging him close.

“I love you too.”

* * *

“I wanna go home.”

Folvys lifted his head up, eyes leaving his book to meet the saddened green eyes of Adormir. “We are home,” he spoke, softly smiling. Adormir kept silent over the few weeks since they moved. This was the first time he had talked without being talked to prior.

“I mean the Arena. I wanna go back to the Arena.” His normally vibrant and cheerful face was painted in sadness Folvys seldom saw on him.

“I know, bud. I miss everyone too. Want me to send them another letter?”

“No.” Folvys was thankful for that. He sent at least ten in the last week alone, all addressed to those in the Arena. “I wanna live there again. Can we move back?”

Folvys put his book down and pushed himself up with his cane, approaching the Bosmer. “No, but we can visit sometime.” He put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it friendily. ”How about that?”

He caught a glimpse of a faint smile before almost being knocked over with a hug. “That would be amazing!” the fan chirped, ”You’re the best! When can we visit? Tomorrow? O-or maybe a week from now? Two weeks? Three? Hopefully not a month. I can’t wait that long. I can’t wait to go back!”

The Dunmer chuckled, ruffling up the kid’s blond hair and finding his balance again. He knew that would perk him up. “I know, I know. I’ll talk about things with Modryn and see if we can work out something.”

“Okay!” he smiled, earning himself a head pat.

“Speaking of,” Folvys said, noticing his love passing by, “Modryn!”

The older Dunmer stepped back and poked his head in the room. “Need something?”

“No, but Adormir is feeling homesick. You think you could run him around and get all his energy out for me?”

Adormir seized up, but kept a somewhat positive expression. “I’d love to,” came Modryn’s rough voice, “I’ll rough him up for ya.”

“Don’t take him anywhere dangerous!” Folvys snapped without venom, “I don’t want him coming back looking like me, got it?”

Modryn laughed. “Don’t worry. If he can’t handle himself, I’ll handle whatever comes at us.”

“I don’t want  _ you _ to come back missing a leg either.”

He smiled and huffed. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I can’t fight.”

“I know but I don’t want you two to get hurt too badly, okay?”

“Fine.” An annoyed word turned teasing through inflection. “We’ll be safe.”

“Good.” Folvys reached over and pecked him on the cheek. “Be safe, sweetheart. I love you.”

He kissed him back with a smile. “I love you too. We’ll be fine. I promise.”

The gladiator bent down to hug the Bosmer beside him. “You be good. Don’t get into any trouble, ‘cause I  _ know  _ how you like to get into trouble.”

The tease broke him from his panic, causing him to grin. “I’ll try to,” he responded, hugging him back.

Letting go, Folvys returned to his seat, watching Modryn leave, and Adormir trail behind him. The brief hug that acted as a reprieve from the Bosmer's anxieties wore off as the door closed behind him, leaving him alone with Modryn. He straightened out his back, trying to force his worry off his face, but failing halfway. Modryn picked up Folvys’ bow from the weapon rack and handed it to Adormir, equipping his own mace as well. Anxiety clawed at his stomach as he slung the quiver on, looking up at the Dunmer with excitement-masked-worry. Modryn nodded and stepped outside. Adormir's safety was left at the door as he closed it behind him.

“Homesick,” Modryn said, both trying to start conversation and thinking aloud, “I know what’ll get your mind off that.”

“Wh-what?” He was tempted to add  _ sir, _ at the end, but held back. He’d get yelled at for being so formal, but maybe he needed to be formal. His grip on his bow slipped, the nervous sweat on his fingers making his hold on it loose.

“I want to see how good you are with a bow.”

He was going to die, either by Modryn’s hand, or his heart giving out. “O-okay,” he stuttered, his voice shaking against his will.

“Folvys ever take you hunting?”

“No.” His head spun. He’d have to… he’d have to kill something? He had seen so many animals and people die in the Arena, but to kill something himself… he couldn’t do it.

“Figures. Did he ever take you out of the Imperial City?”

“No.”

“Hm. We’ll go out to the Highlands and get you out of the city for once.”

He kept his mouth shut, his silence causing a similar hush to fall on Modryn, and the two remained that way as they left the city. The heat and humidity Adormir expected from the Imperial City manifested on the paths weaving in and out of Chorrol, the shade from roadside trees offering protection from the sun, yet the heat still bore down on them both. At least a breeze cooled their sweat enough to make the heat bearable when it passed by. The canopies rattled with life, birds chirping and moving, the leaves ruffling like their feathers. Without the comfort of the gladiator to keep Modryn in line, Adormir's anxiety stayed rooted to the ground, the wind unable to sweep it up and send it far into the mountains. It was a nice day, apart from him having to prove himself to a former Fighters Guild Champion. If he survived this, maybe he could wander Chorrol for a few hours and continue familiarising himself with its layout. Until then, he’d have to be brave. 

Modryn pulled Adormir aside, off the monitored road and into the brush. Folvys made the kid soft, from how fearful he looked being outside. He teased Folvys about how he treated his son, protecting him from his own shadow. He kept the Bosmer closer to him than he ever did when he fought in the Arena, but he couldn’t fault him for that. Often, Folvys kept himself awake at night, worrying over the boy and fretting about if he was adjusting well to Chorrol and the changes that brought him. To all of his concerns, Modryn would hold him tighter and tell him it would all be okay, running his fingers through his hair and reassuring him until his love fell asleep. His worry didn't surprise him; his neuroticism over the boy was present when they first met. Taking Adormir out into the wild would do good to dampen Folvys' anxieties. If he could get Adormir to be self-sufficient, then he’d not have much to worry over.

“Alright,” Modryn said, hushed, “I want to see what you can do with that bow. Folvys tells me you’re good.”

He nodded jerkily, stomach knotting. “What should I aim for?”

“Nothing yet. If you see some animal, like a bird or rabbit, aim for that.”

Adormir gulped. All the matches in the world wouldn’t have prepared him to emulate them, especially so far from the Arena proper. He hoped, prayed, to anyone who would listen, that every creature within a several yard radius would vacate it. If he was daring, he would’ve ran. Ran all the way back to the Imperial City, where all his friends at the Arena would be waiting for his return with open arms. And maybe that would cause Folvys to move back and they could live how they did before. Days spent whittling away his money at the Arena, making more than he lost most days, cheering, clapping, energised by adrenaline seeing warriors fight and spill their own blood. He wouldn’t have to go out of the city or be made to show his talents for approval. The memories poked at his heart, threatening his eyes and their ability to keep his tears inside. A few escaped, but he blinked them away. This will never be home.

They heard a small scurrying of little feet on the ground. Modryn nodded at him, reiterating wordlessly his orders. Adormir took out an arrow and fiddled with the bowstring, unable to notch it as quick as he wanted. He didn't have to look at the Dunmer to know his disappointment. He watched the forest floor, hoping the little creature knew what danger it was in and to run. Run from him. Run where he couldn’t. But the round head of a hapless squirrel poked out behind a bush, hopping over to pick up something, and nibble on it, ignorant. He drew the string back, taking aim, failing miserably at calming his fears and only making them worse. His hands trembled, target clear but aim fuzzy, unable to steady himself for a clear shot. And maybe that was the answer to his prayer, that he could try, but he couldn’t shoot it, but the longer he lingered on readying his aim, the more pressure Modryn put on him. 

He counted down. Three. 

Two. 

One.

He released his hold on the string, launching the arrow forward with a satisfying  _ thwick _ . To his outer relief, but inner dread, he missed the squirrel, the arrow glancing a rock and striking the ground. The squirrel darted up a tree, his nerves slowing the next arrow’s notching and firing, which bounced off the trunk as the squirrel disappeared into the mass of leaves above. Modryn sighed, releasing his own held-in tension. One miss didn’t mark him a failure. Sure, it wasn’t what he expected, but he cut him some slack. He was probably used to still targets in clear fields. 

From below, a rabbit came out of its burrow. Adormir notched another arrow. Maybe the rabbit would notice him and run back underground. It hopped towards him, grey pelt like silver in the sunlight. It jumped right back into its hole, arrow piercing the ground but not its flesh. Same relief, same panic, same disappointment. Waiting a few minutes, he saw a bird, a cardinal, that he, yet again, missed, as it fluttered out of his reach. Over the next two hours, the same situation repeated, the only thing breaking up the monotony being collecting his arrows and occasionally moving positions. Modryn said nothing, spectating, growing more and more restless seeing the Bosmer continually miss. He had been told he was good with a bow, yet failed shots that he could make without the skillful teachings of Folvys to guide him. What excuse did he have to be this terrible?

As Modryn thought of calling it a day and returning, movement caught his ears. Adormir heard it too, by how he perked up. The two watched the area the sound emanated from, eager and fearful of what could come. With the grace of a falling leaf in the wind, came a doe. She grazed idly, before picking her head up and walking forward. While the Dunmer was elated to see something that could feed them for weeks, the Bosmer was less than thrilled. She was close enough for him to hit, close enough for him to notch an arrow and watch, but not close enough for him to justify drawing it back. They watched her, hardly breathing, as she approached them. She stopped a few feet from them, a few bow-lengths away. Modryn looked at him, and he knew what he had to do.

He pulled the arrow back, shaking. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do  _ this _ . But he shot anyways. 

_ Thwick _ . 

His heart threatened to burst from his ribcage.

The arrow struck.

The doe reeled back and bolted, unmarred. It landed a few feet behind her. His trembles had tipped his bow up enough to arch over her back. His tenseness washed away if only for a second, before flooding back in as he noticed the reaction Modryn held. Adormir smiled sheepishly, submissively, hoping to be dragged out of the forest alive and in one piece.

“What the hell was that about?” Modryn growled. The Bosmer's brows tipped up, a submissive smile on his face hiding growing terror. “That thing was so close. So  _ close. _ Yet you missed it.”

“I‘m… I’m sorry,” was all he said in response. Was he? Or was he sorry for incurring his anger? His defenses protecting tears from flooding out from him eroded. He blinked away the precursors of the dam breaking, trying to keep it together.

“Folvys  _ told _ me you had some sort of skill, and I know  _ he  _ does, but did you not pay attention to him when he  _ taught  _ you?”

“I… did.” The smile chipped. 

“Clearly not enough. I expected more from you.”

“S-sorry.” He couldn’t stop himself anymore. Tears streaked down his face, and his attempts to damp them up were noticed.

“You’re crying. Crying’s not going to fix anything.”

“I-I kn-now-w.”

“Then quit it. I don’t have the patience to deal with it right now. Go get your arrows.”

Stifling his whimpers, he did as he was commanded to do. They traveled back in silence, the sun hot on their faces. Adormir made no effort to hide any of his fear, hanging his head low in defeat as his free hand fiddled with the fabric of his shirt. Modryn didn’t spare him a passing glance. He felt lied to. Folvys had built the boy up to be a halfway decent archer, but he was shown someone charitably called a novice. He kept his eyes on the road, pushing out his anger towards Folvys. It wasn’t his fault this kid didn’t pay any attention to him. And as he milled over his thoughts, they hit a snag.

Adormir was young. 

Not a child, but not the age he’d normally see recruits at.

Had he been too harsh on him? Was he expecting too much from him? 

As those thoughts set in, regret sank into his stomach. Maybe he expected more than he was able to achieve. Was a few animals too much for him? Was hitting that doe too hard for him? It couldn’t be. He could’ve made that shot blind. Was he intentionally missing? For what purpose? He loved the Arena; this should’ve been right up his alley. He couldn’t be missing on purpose. But in private Folvys cheered him on, saying how his skills were rapidly improving. Why would he lie about him being good when Adormir wasn’t in the room? He wracked his brain for an answer, stressed and with the preambles of a headache setting in.

“Hey,” Modryn said, voice low, as soon as they stepped inside their house. The Bosmer whipped his head around to look at him, tears still in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Adormir was silent, staring back blankly. 

“I’m… sorry. For snapping at you.”

Quiet still. He was annoyed by the silent treatment, although Adormir remained silent out of fear, and not spite.

“You forgive me?” Modryn offered his hand.

Adormir set down the bow on the rack and his quiver beside it and stared down at the Dunmer’s palm. His eyes flicked up to Modryn’s face, then back down. 

He bolted from the door and into his room, shutting the door behind him.

Modryn stood up again, putting his mace back and staring at the hallway where his room was. Was he that harsh? He didn’t think what he did warranted  _ that _ kind of response. Suppressing his concerns, he decided to get a canvas and paint. That would help take his mind off things. But as he passed through the hall to reach the spare room he made into his art studio, he heard soft sobbing from Adormir’s room. And if it was only that, it would sting, but he could continue without it affecting him too much. But the elf choked out words between gasps for air, quiet enough to go unnoticed unless someone was purposefully listening to him.

“I wanna go home. I hate it here.”

Modryn had fought against many different kinds of people, from lowly thugs and raiders, to those in the Blackwood Company, and had sustained some bad injuries himself over his life.

And yet, hearing that hurt worse than all of them combined.

* * *

_ Knock knock. _

Modryn didn’t take his eyes off the canvas. He needed to throw himself into something, but more than that, he needed to be alone. He needed to calm down before he could show his face again. Not like his art made him feel any better. There was one thing he wanted to paint, and if it hurt, he’d suffer through it.

“Modryn?” Folvys. Modryn tensed up hearing his voice. “Can I come in?”

He said nothing.

“Adormir was crying.” The name stabbed his heart. “He wouldn’t tell me why other than that he wants to go home. Did something happen when you two were out?”

“No. It was fine,” he called back bitterly, eyes still on the canvas.

“Are you sure?”

“It was  _ fine. _ ”

Folvys cracked the door open and peeked his head inside. “Alright,” he said, not wholly convinced, stepping inside the studio. “What’re you working on?”

“A project.” The gladiator hopped over to him to better look at his work, but Modryn blocked him from view. “You’ll see it when it’s  _ done _ .”

“You’re a bad liar,” Folvys teased, “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Alright. Can I stay in here with you?”

As much as he wanted his solitude, sending him out would make more problems. “Sure.”

“Good.”

Canvasses, painted on and blank, littered the room and lined the walls. His paintings were terrible, but he was improving by the day. Folvys cared about the journey more than the destination, so it didn't matter if Modryn was good or not. He walked back from the easel and to the left wall, staring up at the fruits of his love’s labour. There was obvious progression, though the pieces themselves were bad quality. A lot of variation in techniques and colours to mixed success. Even if some noble from Alinor wouldn't pay a year's worth of gold for them, Folvys would.

He turned back, trying to get a look at the painting without Modryn noticing. He loved watching him paint. It was his passion, and it was evident in every shaky stroke and unsure colour. Using his cane as leverage, he pushed himself up an inch or so, squinting. A sky and what appeared to be a roof, or a tree branch, or a stone slab. Interesting. He spotted the point of a peculiar yellow stroke, the rest obscured by Modryn himself, possibly a flower or mushroom, but nothing conclusive.

“Are you sure its a secret?” Folvys said, falling back down on his heel.

“ _ Yes _ . And if you keep pestering me, I’ll make you  _ leave. _ ”

The words stung. “Alright. Can you tell me what it is?”

“ _ No _ .”

“Is this a big project of yours? That why you’re hiding it?” Folvys smiled sweetly, mind filling with love for the painter. “You’re getting better every day, baby.”

Nothing. Not even a grump.

“Can’t wait to see it when its done.”

Silence.

“Y’know, I never thought that I’d be with such a talented man. Always thought I’d die before that point.”

“Yeah.”

“What can I say? I like my men to be able to  _ paint  _ the ground with their enemies.” He smiled at his own wordplay.

“Hmph.”

“Wasn’t it lucky? When we first met? You going down to Leyawiin for guild business, stopping in the Imperial City-”

“You should go back.”

“What?”

“You should go back to the Imperial City.”

“We can’t. We don’t have enough to move down there.”

“Not _we._ _You._ ”

“Why would I-”

“Just go back there and be happy without me!” he whipped his head around, red eyes staring directly into his soul.

“Modryn, I… I’m happy here. With you. With Adormir.”

“He wants to go back home.”

He decided to try his luck and put an arm around him, resting his head on Modryn’s shoulder and closing his eyes. “I know it hurts to hear him be upset, but give him more time to adjust. I think if we find him some group to be apart of, he’d start to perk up.”

“Maybe.” He put his brush aside and pulled Folvys closer.

“Don’t get worked up over it. He hates change-” He opened his eyes, and the words he had were stillborn. The only ones that left his mouth were “Oh sweetheart…”

He understood why he wasn’t allowed to look at his work. The background was blue, with bits of unpainted white sticking out in some areas, looking like unintentional clouds. There was a house, or what seemed to be a house, considering its blotchy windows and messy roof. In front, on the greenish-blue grass, was what killed his original sentence before its birth: three crudely drawn figures, all holding each other’s hands. One meant to be Modryn, seeing as it was the tallest one, wearing smudged armor; another, Folvys, shorter and wearing his Arena raiment; and the unmistakable blonde dollop of hair on the shortest figure being Adormir. If it was left at that, it would’ve been an awfully sweet painting, but there was a line connected to a oval containing dialogue coming from Adormir.

“I love my dads.”

It was so simple, but that one detail told Folvys everything.

“What happened when you two went out today?” he asked gently, waiting for the inevitable shutdown.

“I think he hates me.”

“Why?” The fact that he thought that pained him. With Adormr of all people! That kid was shy, sure, but hateful? Adormir couldn’t be hateful; he didn’t have the heart to hate. “He doesn’t hate you, I promise.”

“He does. He does, and its my fault he does, and you know what? Let the bastard hate me.”

“ _ Modryn _ ,” Folvys growled.

“Its not my fault he can’t shoot straight to save his life.” He unhooked his arm, picking up his brush again and stabbing it full of paint. “Its not my fault he’s  _ weak _ .” He sliced through the canvas, leaving a cut bleeding black. “Not my fault he’s a  _ coward _ .” Another slash. “Not my fault he’s  _ scared  _ of me.” And another. “Maybe, he should be. Scared. Of _. Me. _ ” Each punctuation added another gash, until the sweet family portrait was covered in black.

Folvys stared at the destruction, then back to Modryn. Did he have any words he  _ could  _ say? Modryn’s breaths were heavy, less out of frustration and more out of held-back emotions. Neither dared to break the silence for a tense moment.

“If you act like this around him, no wonder he gets scared,” Folvys said, breaking the silence.

“I know,” Modryn sighed, “and I apologised to him, and what does he do? He runs away and slams the door! You know what I’ve done to recruits like that? I’ve-”

“But he’s not a recruit. And parenting him isn’t the same as dealing with them.”

Modryn’s grip on the gladiator tightened as he set down his palette. “How  _ am _ I supposed to parent him? You’re too nice to him and I’m too hard on him.”

“I don’t think you understand why I am.”

“I… I don’t.”

“Its what he responds best to. You can’t shout at him to do anything because he’d lock up and cry.”

“You’re also sweet.” Modryn purred, putting his other arm around him and pulling him into a hug. “Maybe too sweet. You protect him too much.”

“I probably do. I… don’t want him to end up like me.”

“I understand, but you can’t protect him forever.”

“I know. And if I die you’ll be throwing him into vampire dens armed only with his fists.” Folvys chuckled, propping his cane up against the easel and throwing his arms around Modryn’s neck.

“Probably.” Modryn flashed a quick smile before shaking his head and falling back into sadness.

“So what did you two end up doing?”

“Tried to go hunting with him. See how good he was with a bow.”

Folvys sighed. If he wanted to lose his balance, he’d facepalm. “You took him  _ hunting. _ ”

“What? That’s how I bonded with my father.”

“He’s different than you, idiot.” Folvys kissed him. “Did you ask him what  _ he _ wanted to do?”

“...No.”

“There’s where you messed up.”

“What else can I do with him? The only thing he cares about is the Arena.”

“Engage him on  _ his _ level. Ask him  _ about  _ the Arena, get him talking about it. He’s got quite the memory.” Folvys let out a small laugh. “He’s got the mind to be the Archmage if his obsession lied with magic.”

“You think that?” Modryn laughed himself at the incredulity. That kid, Archmage. 

“Yes! He remembers things about my own matches I’ve forgot!” The younger Dunmer’s arms fell back down as he grabbed his cane. “What he bet, who I went up against, how the other guy died, everything! Down to the date and time!”

Silently, that kind of memory impressed him, yet he kept his pride. “I don’t see how that’s going to serve him in his life if he’s only going to use it with the Arena.”

“I know he’s going back to the Arena when he gets old enough to,” he said, walking over to the door, “so don’t worry about his employment.”

“I can’t see him lasting a match.”

“He’s not going to be a combatant! Even I can’t see him doing that.”

“That’s a first.” Modryb took a roguish joy in seeing Folvys’s face sour slightly when those words reached him.

“Are you going to make me hop all the way back to you and shut you up?”

Modryn paused in sly thought. “Yep.”

Folvys shook his head with a groan, but came back to his love. Putting his cane aside and wrapping his arms around him once more, the two shared a playful kiss. Whatever anger and frustration he held melted away as soon as they connected, and he was washed with vulnerability, weakness, pride dissolving if only for a few seconds. He worked hard to be strong, to never show an ounce of fragility, but Folvys shot through his walls like a wild arrow and struck his heart with such a force that turned him helpless. He loathed the feeling, but around him, it was okay. Everything would be okay.

They parted hesitantly, both lost in each other. “I really do want him to see me like he does you,” Modryn admitted, breaking the silence that both lasted forever and was way too short for either of their likings, “but I don’t know if he’ll ever see me like that.”

“He will,” Folvys smiled, “Trust me.”

Modryn let out a relaxing sigh. “I guess I’ll have to.”

“Shut up.” Always so playful.

“I love you,” he spoke, seeing the smug look melt off of the Dunmer’s face.

“I love you too.”

Tomorrow, Modryn decided, he’d take Adormir out to the forest again.

* * *

The last dying echoes of winter crisped the air. The wind from the mountains chilled Chorrol more, making the day delightfully, and refreshingly, cold. A light rain passed through the night uneventfully, leaving the vegetation glistening in the sun, which darted in and out of clouds left behind by the shower. Modryn and Adormir walked down the stone paths out of Chorrol. They carried nothing but the clothes on their backs, with Adormir weighted down more by his own fear. Was Modryn expecting him to fight animals unarmed? Or did he have enough of him, and was going to abandon him in the wild? He didn’t ask why they headed out, since he already knew it would end in disaster. Besides, asking would irritate Modryn.

Modryn, however, carried no burden, except his fading guilt over what happened the day before. As much as he wanted to comfort the Bosmer by putting his hand on his shoulder, he refrained. He could see how he shrunk away from him, the anxiety in his eyes, now that he cared enough to take note of it. It pained him, seeing how his son, not just Folvys’, but  _ his _ son as well, feared him, but took refuge in the fact he was trying to change that. Still, he suppressed his own anxiety. Would he fuck this up like he did last time, and make him fear him more than he did before? He had sat with the same worry most of the night, it gnawing at his stomach and keeping him awake. Folvys had already made fun of him for his neuroticism over it, finding irony in how Modryn teased him over the same thing, so he controlled his urge to beat himself up further for it.

Spotting a small clearing off the path, they entered it. A tree had fallen a long time ago, leaving a broken stump and a log covered in moss and dotted with tan xylophagous mushrooms. It was too early for many popular alchemical flowers in the Great Forest to bloom, but smaller white flowers had already opened up, and grape hyacinths littered the forest floor. Sitting down against the stump, Modryn waved the fan over to sit by him. He obeyed, albeit hesitantly, and stared with tense curiosity back at the Dunmer. He didn’t predict this, but still, he remained vigilant. 

“It’s a nice day out, isn’t it?” Modryn said, jolting Adormir from his panic-induced dissociation.

He nodded, eyes shifting out to the endless green.

The silence was awkward, but Modryn persisted through it. “You know, there used to be an arena in Chorrol.”

That seemed to perk him up. “There was,” he recalled, still as painfully timid as usual, but deriving confidence from his knowledge, “Been gone for a long time. The only arenas standing in Cyrodiil are the ones in the Imperial City and Kvatch.”

“Wonder what happened to the rest of ‘em.”

“Well, a lot of them either fell into disrepair, has some kind of disaster happen to them, or a mix of the two.” His voice grew more steady, more clear. “I know the one in Chorrol got destroyed in the Soulburst back in the Second Era. They never bothered to rebuild it.”

“Damn shame. I would’ve loved to waste my time there when I was younger.”

“I wish it was still there too! I miss the Arena.”

“I know. There’s a lot of change happening in your life.”

“Yeah....” Without the support of his knowledge to prop him up, his voice receded.

“But don’t worry. You’re not leaving the Arena for good.”

“I… I’m not?” He cocked his head, blinking.

“Nope. I know how much it means to you, and so does Folvys. We’ll be taking you back there in a few weeks.”

“We’re  _ what?! _ ” His shouting made birds flee, face pushed back with a wide grin.

“Yep.” Dropping his voice, he leaned in, talking like he was telling him a secret. “Don’t tell Folvys yet, but I’m thinking of taking you again in the summertime, after we go back the first time.”

Adormir’s adulation was unsuppressable. “Are you really?” he asked, excitement rushing his words.

“Sure am, kid.”

If he had been standing, he would’ve been tackled to the ground from the Bosmer’s hug. For such a small elf, he could topple an Orc with that kind of hug. Yet the hug only lasted for a few seconds, before Adormir realised what he had done, and quickly retracted. The fear seeped back into him, his body recoiling. Modryn still didn’t have his full trust. The quiet returned, leaving them both with their thoughts. Modryn decided to vocalise his. 

“Hey,“ he started, pushing back his instincts and arrogance, ” I… know you’re scared. And I know I’m why you’re scared.” The boy tensed up hearing that. “But I don’t want you to be scared of me. I’m… new to all this, just like how being away from the Arena is new to you. The closest thing I have to this was working in the Fighters Guild, and you’re not a damn Apprentice needing sense kicked in him. I’m sorry for treating you like you were.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough yesterday,” he sputtered, voice cracking as he held back tears, thoughts racing and crashing about in his mind, “I’m never good enough. I’ve never been good enough for anyone!” His hand dug into his hair, unable to keep back his emotions, which rolled down his pale cheeks. “I’m not good enough for you, I’m not good enough for friends, and I wasn’t good enough for my  _ real  _ parents to love me!”

A subtle panic set in. This was Folvys’ expertise, not his. When was the last time he had to console someone on the verge of a breakdown? When was the last time he saw someone upset and didn’t tell them to get back to work or ignore them? He took what he said to him yesterday truly to heart, and it killed him inside. Modryn stared at him, watching him curl up into a ball and hide his face, running through any solution, anything he could say to make things right, but couldn’t. 

He crawled over to the boy and sat beside him, putting an arm around his back and hugging him. “You’ve been through some shit, haven’t you?” he remarked, half-expressing his own thoughts.

Adormir lifted his head up slightly, eyes looking up at Modryn and then flicking to the ground. 

Modryn smiled sympathetically, bitterly. They sat there, motionless, Modryn holding Adormir as he cried. He had nothing he could tell him other than acknowledge his suffering. Nothing needed to be said. Over time, the fan unfurled himself, leaning up against the Dunmer’s side and burying his face in him. His little arms grabbed Modryn, fists full of his shirt as he wept. Although they exchanged no words, they both communicated. The act of giving and getting comfort didn’t need words. The tension would only be built by talking, but silence deflated it. The world slowed around them, as if Akatosh himself took pity on the Bosmer and granted him more time to calm.

The light breeze barely touched the canopy, the birds distant yet sonorous. The only sound heard dampened, Adormir’s cries wasting away as he too became as quiet as the imperceptible beatings of bird winds above. His sobs turned to soft breaths, his body relaxing but not moving an inch from Modryn’s side. 

“I…” started Adormir, breaking the serenity, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“All this. I’m too emotional for anyone to ever love.”

“I love you despite it.”

The fan picked his head up in surprise. Had he heard correctly? “You… what?”

“I was an idiot, I hurt you, and even though you hate me, I love you.”

Adormir's eyes were like dew-covered leaves, glistening with tears as he stared up innocently at Modryn, blinking. “I don’t hate you. I never did.”

“Seemed like you did.”

“I was more scared of you than anything. But… I’m not scared anymore. I’m… happy. Happy that even if my real parents abandoned me, my current parents love me like I love them.”

Modryn’s heart skipped, which he ascribed to old age and not because of the implication that he loved him. “We do, but I don’t show it.”

Adormir giggled, hugging Modryn. “I love you, Modryn.”

As grizzled as he was, it was hard to stop his heart swelling and his eyes wetting hearing that. “I love you too.”

The two fell back into silence, staying that way until they left the clearing and onto the stone tiles of the Black Road. Unburdened by fear, Adormir talked and talked, voicing his excitement at the potential trip to Kvatch, the trip home, lamenting the loss of the Chorrol arena, as well as miscellaneous facts that came to his mind. Modryn said little, but listened to compensate. The passion, the odd reverence in his voice as he recounted each arenas' destruction like he was talking about the achievements of a friend who passed forced his interest. How he had doubted him, and his abilities. Folvys was right: he could become Archmage if he so wanted to. Yet Adormir shied from a position of equal status. He wanted to work in the Arena, either as an announcer, bookmaker, or blademaster. Maybe Modryn could help him with the latter, a thought that he physically couldn’t keep himself smiling from. 

Coming home, they were ready to settle back into the gentle life of love, care, and support that awaited them.


End file.
